June 3, 2023. 10:34PM
Perhaps I am being a little unfair when I say that this place is Hell’s collection plate for those not wicked enough for eternal condemnation but not quite lucky enough to be born to purgatory, which is to say, I am right at home. I suppose Wylwood is my home now. As someone once told me, “You really never can go back.” Not that I ever want to go back home, though I suppose the offer is still on the table. But I am getting ahead of myself.
Wylwood is one of those little towns tucked deep in the dark Appalachia forest where everyone knows every single thing about everyone else and their last twelve generations going back. Just ask any person you run across what exactly a “double first cousin” is. Of course, for the towns older women, this is treated as a matchmaking request, so please apply caution here.
Wylwood is a small town, population of around 2,200, if you only count people and not the many ghouls, bears, and other large commonly thought to be extinct mammals that call this place home. The town is rather snake-like and follows along an abundant river that carves a path between steep and unforgiving hillside. Incidentally, as a traveling passenger goes by, they will notice all of the towns buildings that haven’t been burned or boarded up are located between rock and river with nearly ludicrous amounts of train track interspersed. Coal, poverty and despair are the major exports of this town. Visitors to the nearby national park are the only true imports. The town also proudly supports it’s very own emergency room, post office, and no less than three dollar stores, and one restaurant in a converted car repair garage.
My name is Kate Fugate, you may call me Kate, you may call me Katie, frankly you can call me Fido for all I care. You may not call me by my birth name, and just to make myself clear, no, I’m not going to tell you, so there. I am 27, and I have recently decided that I need to start this online diary as well, this is really, really, REALLY hard for me to acknowledge.
“Just accept it Kate.” My inner dialogue says.
“Must I though?” I argue, “Nothing is certain, it is not set.”
“Damn it, Kate.” The dialogue is much more forceful this time “It happens to EVERYONE, it has spared NONE of them, not one, and you are not special.”
“Fine, but let me do this on my terms.” I concede.
I, Kate Fugate, probably, though will not say for certain, have a hereditary, issue? Conundrum? The problem is, my entire hereditary line of females, probably going back to Lilith herself has had an early onset dementia with some downright weird symptoms. The great majority of them are able to “pass” as socially normal but everyone always feels something is just a bit off. Would they feel the same, I wonder if they shared a home for as long as I did?
The point of this journaling is because I want to retain as much memory as possible and I want a reference point, so when or if my grasp with reality become untethered, I won’t be too adrift. Already, I feel something is very wrong with the picture. Why in one of the biggest coal producing areas is there a hydroelectric plant? You tell me. No, seriously tell me. Most of the locals are opposed to renewable energy as they feel it is a threat to their livelihood but when talking about this specific hydro plant it is considered absolutely crucial. Why is it too, that absolutely no one local would be interested in this job when it was a better option than most in the area?
I was offered a very generous sign on bonus with the government after graduating with a Marine Biology degree that, after being given ton of loans, I found out was not in as much demand as the college led me to believe. The contract outlines that I must stay here for 10 years, housing will be provided, but failure to stay my term will result in “severe penalties.”
“And what exactly are those penalties, Mrs. Wedgewood?” I ask to the 6ft, very stern woman across a poorly constructed desk from me. I estimate she is in her 60’s going on her 70’s. She is wearing khaki pants and a blue button down shirt and has white hair that is nearly shimmering over with a purple tint.
“Listen, Miss, umm, Miss is the name your pare- “ She looked at me inquisitively before I cut her off.
“Yes, yes it is. They were non traditional individuals. Just call me Kate, please.” I give her a look to hope she finds it in her to understand.
“Okay, Miss Kate, listen if you are unsure about this job, my recommendation is that you don’t take it. I have seen many like you come and go. The job isn’t hard but for whatever reason, people can not handle it. It is no secret, the turnover is high, most don’t last the year. I have seen people driven mad, people have had accidents, people have -“ I cut her off again.
“What do you mean, ‘went mad’ ?“ I ask.
“Well, one of my men, maybe the fifth or sixth from the last one, said he seen a snake with a million eyes wink at him, then said it started shooting him with rainbows. And that when he drove off a cliff, into the river, we never recovered the body.” She replied almost flatly like this was the fifteenth time she told this story and couldn’t believe it herself.
It took me a second of awe stuck silence to realized, “But wait, if he died how do you know what he saw?”
“All vehicles are installed with cameras and audio equipment, for insurance of course.” She was getting tired of all my questions. “We do try and make note of unusual events and get Washington visitors to collect recordings and water samples among other things every other week. They are very invested in our operations here and you will get used to them in time. Now dear, what does your family think, it is a big move after all?”
I squirmed a bit as I thought out the ‘right answer’ for these situations. “Well you see Mrs. Wedgewood, the thing is I am a, uh well, let’s go with orphan?” I sputtered out hoping she would not ask for clarification like many others have.
“Well dear, I am not going to dive any deeper into that, although I am sorry for your loss, and I’ve been there many times too. We can go ahead and offer you a position as a plant operator, and we can start as early as tomorrow. The singles cabins are ready for move in today, though it isn’t much to look at.” Her dark chocolate brown eyes held a look someone gives before announcing to a plane full of passengers that the good news was that none of them would have to pay for their plane today, the bad news was they wouldn’t be the ones collecting the refund.
“I’ll take the job.” I said with all of the enthusiasm I could muster as a newly installed lifer“Do you allow cats in the housing, by the way?”
She gave me a big smile of slightly mismatched coffee stained teeth. “Yes, we will allow it. But can I see the little thing?”
Of course, I led her to my truck. It was a black 1992 Dodge Dakota, the floor was nearly falling out of the bottom, the lining in the roof was being held up by tacks, staples, glue and pine sap. The paint was chipping off, leaving behind bare metal and rust. The gate of the bed was barely holding together by sting and barbed wire, but damn it, she was mine and to me, the most beautiful thing in the whole fucking universe for that matter. It was something of a parting gift from Todd and Ron, the last thing I would ever receive from them. I wonder if they knew that.
“Here Stan, psst psst psst.” I call, as you can see a pair of eyes peeking out of under the seat. I pick him up only to be met with terrified screaming coming from Mrs. Wedgewood.
“Kill it, kill it now. What even is that thing.” She said with forceful conviction.
It took me two hours to convince her that Stan was probably harmless, or at least I hope he is. Hell, I had the same reaction to Stan when I first met him. You see, I was basically living out of my truck before this job. During the trip, I found several gas stations only to find that every single one either had no functioning bathroom or that they were not public bathrooms and the cashier only took payment in oaths of eternal allegiance to the muses. I didn’t have time for that nonsense, so I popped out back long enough to make friends with a tree and get back on that road. I must’ve left my door open just long enough for the little bastard to crawl in. Next thing I know, I have this overgrown buck naked rat licking the salt off my leg. After recreating a PSA on ghost drivers, me and Stan got better acquainted over some chicken salad with cranberry jelly.
We then moved to the actual dam site, it was large old two story brick building approximately 12 miles out of town. The building was most likely built in the 20’s or 30’s and had a large art-deco window spanning from first to second floor. There was a large staircase going down the hill in which the under the building sat yet another level partially underground. From one side of the bottom of the stairs was a large metal sidewalk with grated floors overhanging the river, and on the other side was a path leading to the woods. We walked in silence until we stood on the grated sidewalk.
“These are the output valves for the plant.” Mr. Wedgewood shouted over the sound of roaring water. This is where the water exited the hydro plant and returned to the river.
We then took the path leading into the dark woods.
“I’m sorry, these are somewhat inconvenient to get to, but you have to remember that they were built before cars were a common luxury.” She indicated this warmly and apologetically.
I looked at the cabins, two in total.
“Which one is yours?” I asked.
“No, I don’t actually live here, I’m afraid. I prefer to live in town and generally my role is administrative as opposed to operations so other than a few brief visits, you will probably rarely see me around. Feel free to pick whichever cabin you like, we have no other current occupants.” Mrs. Wedgewood gestured to the cabins.
After much deliberation, I chose door number two. Mrs. Wedgewood opened the door and to my utter awe I could not contain myself.
“Well fry me up and call me dinner, this is something else.”
Mrs. Wedgewood quickly apologized, “I know they really are not in the best condition, but you don’t have to live here if you really don’t want. You can rent or buy in town.”
“No” I replied “This is perfectly sufficient, thank you.“
The cabin was only a single room with two widows, just big enough for a bathroom with a tub, a small single bed, and an old yellow armchair with pictures of wheat and a tractor. There was a fridge, oven, and small kitchen table that looked remarkably like a picnic bench. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that no only did I have no hope of renting another place, this was better than I had imagined.
As she departed into the evening dusk with my promise to absolutely call her if anything happens, I settled into the cabin, I couldn’t help but rummage through some of the cabinets.
“Hey Stan, look I found some cans! Looks like we are eating good tonight!” I said excitedly.
Stan did not return my enthusiasm, but that is probably because he is an asshole.
Oh, Shit! I never did find out exactly what happens if I try and break contract. Well, maybe next time, this is Kate, logging off.